Untold Stories
by alien21xx
Summary: Weiss has disbanded and two decide to catch up on each other. Some yaoi hints, nothing overtly offensive. Everything here is just hinted and alluded at.


**Untold Stories**  
by alien21xx

Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss Kreuz. Someone else obviously more talented and intelligent than me does. So there.  
Author's note:  
The story takes place in Weiss Kreuz anime series, in the lull when they supposedly had disbanded, I'm unsure if that's something like ep.14 or so.

-o-

When I saw Omi again in that small cafe, I wondered if indeed Weiss would be going back to business and if Kritiker had anymore dirty jobs for us scum of society to finish for them again. Just last week, I received a message on my answering machine from Omi and Ken. Not really pertaining to any drastic action. Omi had mentioned that he wanted to catch up on "old times." It has been a year after all.

I think he might have been expecting to see me at the cafe. This used to be the place where Asuka and I had often drank coffee and discussed missions when she was still alive. My odd sense of irony simply refuses to let go of this place and her memory. Heck, I even sat at our favorite table. I think Omi knew all these stuff from Weiss. I don't know. I don't think the kid was a snoop or anything, but he usually kept track of these things that "matter most," like when Sakura had seen Aya kill that guy in the concert hall, or when Ken had been hysterical about his girlfriend, Yuriko. Omi was sensitive, perhaps the only one so among the four of us. I always wondered why Persia drew such a sweet pleasant boy into the arms of demons like me. After two years of working as an assassin, I still haven't come to terms with Omi's participation in all the madness of it.

"Yohji-kun!"

He liked to greet like that, loudly, as if he was puffing with pride that he knew such a person as me. Didn't see what he had to be proud of. Two years an assassin, and a year after Weiss, I'm still pretty much the same guy. Fucked up, messed up, practically dead at twenty-three. I smiled and waved him over to join me. I sat in the smoking section and was halfway through my carton of cigarettes, and not too far from the six-feet under mark for my grave. I knew Omi didn't like smoke but these times when I was jumpy as hell, I couldn't get a day... no even an hour, by without having a smoke.

He gave me a slightly strained smile as he slid into the seat across me. I ground my cigarette and called up a waitress.

"Order whatever you like. My treat."

He smiled up at me with those adorable wide eyes of his and turned to the waitress. "Coffee please." I filed my papers away as he turned back to me. "Yohji-kun, I've missed you so much! You never called anymore, since you moved into uptown Tokyo!" he teased with a chiding voice. I smiled good-naturedly at his banter, even though I felt like the skin of my face was going to fall apart if I even flexed a facial muscle.

"I know, I know. Gomen, my new job has kept me busy these past few months."

His smile perked up, and his bright purple eyes were drowning me in their lushness. I guess not seeing Omi for an entire year made me think weird. Omi was this cute solicitous little brother we all had. I ignored the thought and focused my attention on my third cup of coffee and a freshly lit cigarette. Better not entertain any crazy ideas that might crop up again.

"Maa, Yohji-kun. You never really told us what you were doing after that last mission."

I shrugged. Work wasn't something I particularly enjoyed. Not many women in my line of work. And since Asuka was no longer here to keep me sane.

"I'm a private investigator again," I told him. At his wide eyes, I held up my hands and laughed. "Come on, I don't have all that many skills to begin with."

He shook his head in vigorous disagreement and I felt that pang again. Omi shouldn't be in the company of people like me. "Mou, Yohji-kun, you give yourself too little credit for your skills. Remember that Mathematics test you helped me review for? I wouldn't have gotten an A if you hadn't stayed up so late to help me review."

I admired his faith and his implicit trust. Omi is such a sweet boy. I smiled at him wanly and took a long pull on the cigarette and watched with detached fascination as the smoke wafted out of my mouth in swirling billows.

"Actually, the reason why I got back into this line of work was because of Asuka."

Slender light brown brows furrowed in thought. I smiled at his suddenly pensive look.

"Yeah," I said, answering the unspoken question. "It's been three years... and I just can't..." My voice trailed off into an inaudible choke. I was not going to cry in the cafe. Not in such a public area. I looked down into the coffee mug where the strong black liquid seemed to reflect with dull lighting the melancholy of my haggard face.

"Aa," Omi said, probably because he didn't know what else to say. He looked at my miserable face for a moment. Why does he put up with lunch dates with me, I wonder? I'm not exactly the best companion over tea.

A seemingly interminable silence followed, Omi at a loss for words, and I caught up in my imagined angst. The cigarette burned down. I lit a new one. Omi looked up at me from his coffee cup.

"Have you tried seeing a psychiatrist?"

The innocence with which he asked the question appeared to mask its absurdity and I decided that I might not have heard him all that correctly.

"What?" I asked.

"A psychiatrist." He looked at me with such earnest eyes that I did not have the heart to scoff his suggestion. My face perhaps reflected my incredulity. I could not believe that such a ridiculous proposition would come from Omi... Omi, the most intelligent boy I'd ever had the fortune to meet.

"What would I need a shrink for? Omi, I'm not crazy. I just... need more time to get over her passing."

"But Yohji-kun, she's been gone for over three years. You have to come to terms with that."  
I gazed at him with anguished eyes. How can he know...? He's never been in love before. He's just a kid. And what he felt for Ouka then... that was more brotherly love than anything resembling a romantic relationship.

"Don't you think I know that?!" I bellowed, and instantly felt ashamed. My antics had not captured an audience, but I felt ashamed for shouting at Omi. He's only trying to help, I told myself over and over until I've calmed enough to talk again.

Omi had fallen silent, his cheeks stained slightly red. He looked down miserably at his coffee, and once again, I felt that overwhelming tide of shame. I had not meant to shout at him.

"I'm sorry, Yohji-kun," he muttered softly.

"No, it's not your fault!" I said hastily, getting up and reaching across the table to touch his hand. He squirmed and blushed, and again I felt ashamed for compromising his comfort. I sought to let go of his hand but he retained that soft touch and even squeezed my hand a little.

I flushed guiltily as a strange languid sensation overcame me at the touch of that soft warm hand. I looked down at our joining. Omi's hand is beautiful. His fingers are long and slender and curious. His skin is soft and so supple to my touch. I bit my lip and let his hand go.

"Yohji-kun..." he started to say, seeking out my hand again. I let my arms drop to my sides so he can no longer touch me, and looked up at him.

"It's not your fault," I repeated lamely.

Flushing, Omi nodded.

He finished his coffee. I finished my cigarette. Then I called up the waitress for the bill, and left a few crumpled notes on the little tray. Omi and I got up wordlessly.

He gave me a sad cordial little smile and I felt miserable that I had spread my melancholy to this beautiful boy.

"Well, I guess I won't be seeing you again, Yohji-kun," he said softly, infinitely sad.

Impulsively, I reached out and took his hand again as he started to leave. He turned, flustered and realized he and I were standing face to face. I looked down at his sweet questioning face and managed a smile.

"I... I'll try to see a doctor," I told him. His jubilant smile told me I had said exactly the right thing and I could not have thought of a better sense of closure to the day. He threw his hands around me and hugged me tightly, and I, mindless now of public opinion, hugged him back. He was Omi, and he was such an irresistible boy.

When we both straightened, people were already whispering. I couldn't care less.

"Well," he said jauntily, "I'll see you again, Yohji-kun."

With a cheerful wave goodbye, he disappeared out of the cafe. I shrugged into my coat, collected my folder, and reached for my last cigarette, and walked out into the gathering dusk to get ready for my next mission.  
  
end.


End file.
